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Amaya Bhavya Oct 2016
We just have a few months to go
a few more juvenile fights to handle
a few more days of sneaking out of the class
and for the first time
I don't want the bell to ring early

As each second passes
the dress seems to crease
the dust settles
layer by layer
fighting its way through
it's the last time I'd wear my favorite clothes

The pencils start to shorten
erasers still get stolen
those notebooks still have our chats
the green board carries your creativity
benches would be my favorite mini bed
I promised myself
as I lay my hands on it

My hippocampus reached near to full
lacrimal glands prepare itself
tongue waiting to utter words I never spoke
one last time
salivary glands would miss it recess job
coming from the ground
after playing in the sun
sudoriferous glands loved those strokes of light

I could hear the radiating, chirpy , & shuddering voices
coming from the corridor
happy faces, sad faces, frowned faces,crying faces
promising each other to stay in touch -
half lies
the emotional fools who believed it

I remember crying on my first day
as soon as I stepped
I felt like running away
who knew this would become my favorite destination?
Janay Jul 2016
Spirituality

spir·i·tu·al·i·ty  \ˌspir-i-chə-ˈwa-lə-tē\
The quality or state of being connected to, the universe;
Often confused with the ecclesiastical laws.
A form of Biology as a belief; the Biology of belief.
Jeremy Rascon Aug 2016
What am I if not human?  
Am I monster
Who roams the empty city streets
In search for love to devour
And spit back the bones
Defiler of young dreams
Wrecker of lives
Am I a monster
That preys on the weak
One for every day
My primal urges
Urge me to take part in these
Biological
Natural
Irresistible
Wants and needs,
Am I a monster because I suppress them ,
Or am I human?
Andrea May 2016
i am a man of science—
something like that.

i was never one to put things up to faith or religion; no, i am a firm believer of all things formulated out of reason;

until you came along,

with galaxies in your eyes and star dust in your hair; (when i kiss you, i swear i see supernovas)

and who do you think you are, anyway?

to come barging in to my perfectly explained universe and re-arranging all my theorems,

to come waltzing into rooms, acutely unaware of how you send every ***** of mine in to overdrive;

dilated pupils, and an increased heartbeat, and a spike in some hormones, and a light going off somewhere in my brain— (diagnosis: love)

i despise the effect you have on me,

the churn in my stomach to have you smile at me, the thrill to hold your hand, the constant train of thoughts about you that has muddled the part of my head that can explain all this in a more scholar-ly way.

but no. all that i knew could not explain what i felt for you;

no, you had me denying newton's laws of motion— with every action there is an equal and opposite reaction— (you had me hoping my love would recieve, instead, an equal and similar reaction)

no, you were not just a lump of atoms born in to this world for the mere purpose of recreation and, inevitably, death— (to me, you are much more than a scientific construct)

no, all the chemicals boiled down in to nothingness and all the formulas were void of their values and all the terms were mere jargons that could not help me fully comprehend

why you are warmer than sunshine;
why you could take away the oxygen in my lungs faster than anything else;
why the planets seem to align in order to keep you here;
why gravity does not exist in the spaces you occupy;
why distance is my enemy;
and why i am in a love-hate relationship with the rotation of our earth (it depends on when i can see you again);

it was suddenly not just physics, or astronomy, or biology, or chemistry

when you came along.
Mahdiya Patel May 2016
4am
Thoughts of you are dangling off the edge of my cerebrum creating anarchic drapes
mrs kite Apr 2016
blood curdles
sour milk in a pale blue carton
pushing out of wiry veins
rotten

.


the vena cava
was never meant to hold
ruined plasma
just like the world was never meant to hold
me.
Brycical Dec 2015
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Rose L Dec 2015
It lies, turgid.
Beneath the seedy mass of microscopy
lit fluorescent, breathing.
Bloated cellulose bricks in syrup
Conjunctive in an extracellular mess,
Ripped mesh and tiny sculpturettes
Freshly bleeding.
Chloroplastic green and iron red
slivers of nucleic endoscopy
A secret glimpse framed by my eyelashes.
I just love writing about unusual subjects. Science can definitely be poetic.
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